The Next Exterminator
by Wrenchy
Summary: His eyes are furious, hungry for power, greedy... he wants MONEY, and he's DAMNED if he lets this Lombax walk away with it! Rated for minor violence and language. No pairings. Rewrite of two Ratchet: Deadlocked cutscenes.


CONTAINS RATCHET: DEADLOCKED SPOILERS.

**Author's Note: **Short oneshot.

It's just a rewrite of the whole scene with Ace – and with Vox right afterward. Spoilers for Ratchet: Deadlocked.

I didn't like a few lines, plus I want some more practice so I can work on DD (my new short version of saying Drek's Demise) later.

Blagh.

**Disclaimer: **You know, I'd think I'd be pretty damn rich if I owned Ratchet and Clank…

--

The crowd is cheering.

Or booing, depending on who you asked.

Regardless, they are acknowledging that someone won.

The audience is in an uproar as they peer down at the stadium, gazing down at a certain Lombax who has his tail sealed up within his armor, and whose own gaze is pinned down on a certain tall hero wearing a somewhat cheesy outfit. The hero, who resembles a human but is in no way related to one, glares at the lion-like creature, his teeth gritted. They stare at each other, like as if they wish to burn each other with their gazes. The crowd waits in anticipation for one of them to move, for the Lombax to claim himself the victor, as he stands towering over the used-to-be top Exterminator.

"You don't win," the hero growls, reaching his hand up like as if to grab the Lombax's chest or to wring his neck. "Nobody Exterminates Ace Hardlight. _Nobody_. You're just a little furball – a little furball! This isn't over between you and me, I swear it." His voice is raspy, almost shuddering, as he clings onto a bit of life desperately, to let the Lombax know how much he _hates _him for what he's done. The staring contest continues, as the people in the backdrop watch with baited breath, waiting for the DreadZone contestants to spring at each other and make the battle even bloodier. _Oh, the smell of blood, how sweet. Can't get enough of it._

"Stop it, Ace," the Lombax says calmly, much to the audience's disappointment and surprise. The Lombax, Ratchet, known as the most vicious of all the heroes, willing to kill if it is necessary to save his own hide, willing to destroy as he has probably done plenty of times with his bare hands – no, not with his bare hands, but to add insult to injury, with _weapons _like the Pyrociter and the RYNO – is staring calmly down at the Exterminator. He could easily kill Ace, put him out of his misery, but he doesn't – and it's appalling. "Stop embarrassing yourself." His face contorts, changes into a look of slight misery, of—regret?—as he watches the defeated Exterminator struggle, waving his arms around, trying to bring the Lombax down.

It is easy to see the anger that passes over Ace's face – how _dare _the Lombax mock him this way? _Embarrass!? _The greatest hero of all time, who has easily destroyed the lives of others – embarrass himself!? Really? Was that even possible? A growl passes through his lips as he tries to rise to his knees, but easily collapsing back to the marble ground, stained with blood – _their _blood, but mostly his. "I could crush you," Ace hisses. "I could easily crush you. Embarrass? What a laugh! I am _Ace Hardlight_—"

"Your name doesn't matter anymore," Ratchet snarls suddenly, his loud voice echoing through the arena, the crowd on the edges of their seats. Silence reigns. Ratchet's fierce face falls, and Ace's resolve collapses. Emotions, dreadful, dreadful emotions – the crowd isn't pleased. No one is pleased. Emotions, stupid emotions – they are meant to kill, meant to _fight_, not to tug at heart strings.

The crowd is tempted to yell, anything to get them to fight with each other again. But they cannot find anything to say. No words break the thick emotional barrier for what seems like an eternity. The sounds of terrible screams, the sounds of swords clashing – anything is better than the terror silence hauls with it as it dominates the arena.

Finally, a tiny voice.

"What?"

Ace's voice cracks. The audience is shocked.

"That name would have mattered years ago." The most dreadful aspect of this conversation is how resolved – how _calm_ – Ratchet sounds, like as if he's only stating a fact, like as if he knew it all along. It's unsettling, listening to the normally angry or enthusiastic voice, calm like a drone. "But it doesn't matter now. You only have one name you can go by now. _Exterminator_. Because that's all you are now. You must be kidding yourself if you think you're a hero anymore."

There is no pause, no hesitation, to what Ace has to say next – _not _a hero? "As if you're a hero, you son of a—"

"You _killed _to get what you wanted." Ratchet's voice is low, and he has no qualms with interrupting what Ace is saying. _Absolutely nothing is holding him back. _"You lied – you only want money, and after a while, it became _fun _for you to kill heroes. You—" he scoffs, "—you nearly _killed _a friend of mine, who wasn't even _participating as a contestant! _I don't even know if Al is alive, thanks to you!" His voice gradually rises in volume, audience members backing away from the arena so as to not be on the receiving end of the Lombax's fury. "And not _once _did you consider helping the others. Not _once_. What the hell were you _doing _the whole time you were here? Vox says I remind him of how you used to be. So what the hell did you _do_?"

"I—"

"_Nothing_. That's what you did."

The crowd stares, Ace's eyes wide – he has nothing to counter that.

The Lombax turns his gaze to the audience, his teal-green eyes smoldering – and it's all being caught on _holo-vision camera_. "Did you hear that?" he asks, his voice low and menacing. "Your supposed hero Exterminator – _Ace Hardlight _– did nothing to help the heroes. And you just _watch _as they're dispatched. Is it entertaining for you? Do you think this is a _game_? Yeah, hahaha, _DreadZone_. Do you think this is a _joke_? People are dying!"

The audience shifts uncomfortably – whether it is because of the Lombax's fury or because of his _words _is something to be thought through.

Ratchet's eyes are turned back to the used-to-be Exterminator, who recoils, like as if he's going to be yelled at more. The Lombax says nothing, and the staring contest resumes once again, but the air is much tenser, the air is _stifling _– the audience still shifting, Ace is still curled up pitifully on the ground, and time stops for a few moments.

Ratchet's expression softens. All his anger melts away, cascading down into the ground through his gaze. His voice is quiet, raspy, defeated – the worst that the audience has ever heard from anyone, any of the heroes, no matter their condition – "You used to be a hero, Ace. You used… you used to care about others besides yourself. I wish it was still that way. _Someone _needs to care – and if you're not going to, then I am."

The audience watches as two battle bots slowly approach the—depressed, or who knows at this point—Lombax, gently nudging his arms and turning him around. The normally loud bot, Merc, says nothing – only increasing the already nearly snapping tension. Green almost snivels, helping Merc lift the still creature off of the ground, as he no longer has the will to move, practically dragging him back to the ship, the one that would take them directly to Vox.

Ratchet doesn't hear Ace say as he takes off, "I still care. That's why I wanted to make sure you wouldn't become the next Exterminator."

--

The ship flies through the crisp, planetary air, landing swiftly nearby a large room. The Lombax and his robotic companions journey together into the room, HVs surrounding them as they trot inside. The air is tense as the Lombax stands before a shark-like creature, a big grin on the creature's face. The creature's robotic arm crosses over the table as he gazes slyly at Ratchet.

Everyone on the sidelines waits with baited breath to see what he is to say.

"So, you beat Ace, huh?" the shark asks, his voice smooth. Many of the audience members didn't expect to see him in person, but they are glad—hearing him as a brilliant, smooth operator, with a brilliant mind to couple with it. To the audience, he is a pure hero, one to identify with—he knows no bounds in where he is to go. "_Very _impressive."

But the Lombax does not agree. All he can hear within the creature's voice is malice—malice and sadistic pleasure. Because that is all that he is able to feel, and it's nothing—_nothing_—Ratchet wants to be associated with. His heart is pounding, adrenalin rushes through him, rage spills apparent on his face. Everyone watches—Big Al, unbeknownst to him, Clank, the audience, heck, those watching the show. Everyone is involved in some way—and they can see his undisguised hatred for the Gleeman. "Tell me why you sent me here," he snarls, baring his fangs.

The grin slips off of Vox's face. "Well, you're no fun at all," he tells Ratchet, who says nothing, still staring at him, his teal-green eyes locked onto the one who had wrought so much suffering on him and other heroes. "I was going to ask you one thing, though." He leans in, the grin once again finding its way on his face. "You… the next _Exterminator_."

All the screens on the HV flash as the audience stares in awe. The next _Exterminator! _What a dream that would be! What a horror that would be! What a divine right that would be! Faces, many, many faces, change their pleased expression—to either excitement, to anger (and how _dare _Ratchet be nominated to be the next Exterminator? He is not worthy of that honor!), to longing, or to—to sadness and fear. Clank and Al's eyes widen visibly as they watch, tensing up. Would Ratchet really go back on all they had been working for?

Ratchet stares at him evenly, not batting an eyelash.

Everyone stares at him, all nervous in their seats.

Vox stares at Ratchet, gaze menacing and anticipating.

And…

"No." The declaration is firm. There is no doubt in Ratchet's voice.

The audience squirms, and Clank and Al don't know what to think anymore.

Vox… doesn't know anymore.

"_What_?"

"You heard me," Ratchet hisses. "I said 'no.'"

Vox starts sweating. He's nervous, he's _really, really nervous_. He can't handle the pressure that Ratchet suddenly shoved onto his shoulders—the pressure of justifying, of getting more money and fame. He needs it, he needs the publicity, and how could he do that, with his top Exterminator gone? "But being the top Exterminator is beneficial, my boy!" he exclaims to Ratchet, fidgeting as he moves about, holding up a cube that projects imagery. "I could make Ratchet figurines, Ratchet lunchboxes, Ratchet movies, Ratchet shirts… you'll be famous! You'll be like Ace, and—"

"That's just it," Ratchet interrupts, his eyes suddenly downcast. "I don't want to be like Ace."

Silence passes. Neither moves. It's hard to determine if they're even breathing.

"I have a question." And Ratchet breaks it.

"What is it?" Vox asks—his mind is eager for anything, _anything_, to convince Ratchet to become his next Exterminator, to hook him in more publicity and money.

"Why do you think I would do something like that?"

It isn't a question he's expecting.

"Pardon me?"

"_Why _do you think I would do something like that?" Ratchet repeats, suddenly raising his head back upward, his eyes dangerous and cold. The audience stares—_no one _had dared look at Vox that way. Clank and Al tense up, as if in preparation for Ratchet to snap—or the other way around. "Why do you think I would betray the heroes? For money and fame? Pssh. You don't know me. I'm not like Ace." Ratchet laughs, as if it's a joke—but his laugh is a bitter bark. "I'm glad you went through all this trouble to make me—and the other heroes—miserable. It shows how special I am—and how corrupted _you _are. _The next Exterminator? _What, do you think I'm dumb? Do you think I'm dirty like you are? You don't know me—don't act like you do."

Clank knows Ratchet, but even he is surprised by this. _'You've changed.'_

Vox's mouth opens and closes repeatedly, and he stares, aghast, at Ratchet. He knows nothing to say. The Lombax takes this as an invitation to try to leave, as he turns.

_WHAM!_

The Lombax's mouth bleeds as the audience, Clank, and Al stare in horror—

_Vox just punched Ratchet and slammed him into a wall!_

"_Ratchet_!" Clank and Al simultaneously cry out—but the Lombax can't hear their pleas.

Vox holds his robotic arm at Ratchet's throat, like as if he can slice the Lombax's head off just by the twitch of it. His eyes are furious, hungry for power, greedy… he wants _money_, and he's _damned _if he lets this Lombax walk away with it!

"I… I don't understand." His voice shakes, his mind boggled, his eyes clouded with rage. He is getting drunk—drunk off of his need for power, for money… He needs it, needs it! Why can't this Lombax understand that? Why does this Lombax betray him? Why can't he just _agree _and help him with his conquest? It doesn't make sense. _Ace _agreed, and he was a great hero! So why can't Ratchet?

The Lombax only stares at him evenly, a slight flinch at the sudden pain in his left cheek. Blood dribbles down from his mouth, but he doesn't mind it—nor attempts to reach at it, as he cannot move. "You wouldn't understand," Ratchet responds lowly, his eyes slitting, his voice growing angrier, holding a silent fury—for everything this man has put him through, has put the heroes through… has put _Ace _through. How many minds he has corrupted, how many people he has put in danger—and he hates him, _hates him_, for doing this to all of them. _Al… Why… _He grits his teeth, closing his eyes out of anger and huffing, trying to control the blood stirring from within him, to keep himself from doing anything rash… "You… you don't care about anyone but yourself!"

He lashes out, flailing his arms, getting in a punch right at Vox's head, and the DreadZone master backs away, holding his forehead in pain and letting the Lombax go. With one final glare of unconcealed antipathy for the creature of pain and conquest, Ratchet dashes off for the ship, leaping into it and slamming the door shut.

Clank and Al glance at each other in worry. _Ratchet, please be okay. We're here with you…_

A voice drones from the desk they both left behind. _"Sir…" _it calls hesitantly.

Vox stays standing there, stunned.

_"Should we intercept the Lombax?" _the voice continues, as if ignoring the silent storm raging within DreadZone's creator.

Gleeman stares at the desk for a while, trying to collect his crazy thoughts… Sighing through gritted, sharp teeth, he walks up to it, his normal arm rubbing his forehead. "No—let him go."

_"But—"_

And there spawns the devilish smile, plastered on Vox's face, maniacal and devious. _If he can't have Ratchet, __**no one can**__. _"Send him to that death course instead. He'll be _dead _before we know it."


End file.
